“What?”
“The cemetery. I’ve been in your life for two days.”
“Tell me one thing. Do you always make moves on girls who are vulnerable?”
He smiles. He fucking smiles. “I’m an opportunist, Miss McMillian.” He must see confusion on my face. “It’s a pretty simple and clear reasoning.”
Anger builds within me. Or is that regret? “So what? You wait until someone is broken and then pounce, like a tiger hunting prey?”
He laughs.
The fact this amuses him causes my fists to clench.
“No. I wait for a beautiful opportunity to present itself and then I claim it for my own. Big difference. There’s nothing wrong with having what you want.”
“So I’m an opportunity? That’s how you view me?” If steam could blow from my ears, it’s doing it right now.
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s messed up!” I yell.
“Messed up?” he asks like this term is foreign to him.
Panic pulses through my veins. The need to get out of this house screams in my head. “I can’t … I shouldn’t have … I …” Words don’t come out the way I intend, so I stand, clutching my chest, which aches so much I think it might explode.
“It’s okay. I wanted you. Hell, I needed to taste you … to touch you. I’ve wanted that since I laid eyes on you yesterday, and again this morning. Trust me, it was better than I could have imagined.” He reaches out, skimming my arm. This one touch ignites a fire within me. A fire needing to be extinguished immediately.
“Well, I’m glad you got what you wanted. But for me, this was a mistake. A catastrophic fucking mistake. I need to go.”
“Abi, stop. Don’t run. What am I not getting?”
There’s a delayed silence.
He stares intently, looking worried.
“You’re not getting me!”
“Hey, hang on. There’s something deeper going on here. I want to be your friend.”
“Well, I don’t need any more friends. You don’t get it, do you?”
He shakes his head.
“Being with another man, any man like this, was never supposed to happen. Then you come along with your good looks and magic, and you tricked me. I’m damaged, Mike. My life is a train wreck and I’m most definitely cursed, contrary to what others may think. Stay away from me, do you hear? Nothing good can ever come from this.”
“I’m Marcus,” he replies, sympathetically.
“I’m not a whore. I know your flipping name,” I yell.
“You said, ‘I’m damaged, Mike.’ I’m not Mike. I’m Marcus. Are you sure you’re angry at the right person, Abigail?”
Shit! “I’m angry at both of you. From now on, leave me alone.”
NINE
Opportunist
Running down a long pathway that seems to lead nowhere, shoeless and with the zip of your dress half undone, is not a good look. But that’s me, Abigail the tramp. It feels like forever until the bar and Bertha finally come into sight.
The need to cry is there, yet I don’t. I tremble as I pull the handle of the car door. Of course it’s locked. I go to grab the keys from my handbag and my heart drops when I realise they’re still at Marcus’s house, and I’m too exhausted and embarrassed to run back to get them. So I stand with no keys, no wallet, and no phone. Fuck my life.
“This is just great,” I scream. “Fuck you, you piece-of-shit hex. You win.” I slide to the ground and silently sob. My life is a disaster.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay.”
I huff when I hear Marcus’s voice.
“Abigail,” he says, pulling me from the pavement and wrapping me into his arms. “I’m sorry.”
I sob into his chest where I’m instantly warm and safe. I shouldn’t be. I hate Marcus.
“Let’s get you home.” The zip of my dress fastens in place under his touch. “I’m sorry,” he apologises again, unlocking my car and helping me into the passenger seat of Bertha. The ignition turns over and his eyes fill with pity.
I close mine to get rid of the image and hope tomorrow never comes.
“So, where’s home?”
Not wanting him to know where I live, I give him Sammy’s address, which is not far from where we are. “Are you right to drive?” I ask, worried he might still be over the legal limit for driving.
“I’m fine. I didn’t drink that much, and it’s just after two a.m.”
It’s late. Time sure flies when you’re having … Nope! It wasn’t fun.
We say nothing during the time it takes us to get to Sammy’s. There’s no way I can go to work tomorrow, and again I’m going to be jobless. Trish is going to kill me, and this time the crew might do more than just an intervention—they might actually commit me.
“We’re here,” Marcus says before he climbs out of Bertha and opens the passenger side door, helping me to the footpath. “Here’s your keys and your handbag. I’ve put your shoes on the back seat for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, my energy depleted.
“No problem.”
Why is he so nice? “How are you getting back?”
“I’ll get home. Don’t worry.” He runs his hand through his hair. He looks left then right in a way someone does when getting their bearings on their surroundings, then he leans forward and plants a soft kiss on my cheek.
“I’m sorry, Marcus.”
“Don’t be.” He steps backwards.
And with that, he turns and walks the way we drove in. There’s no goodbye. There’s nothing more to say.
When I can no longer see Marcus in the darkness, I rush to Sammy’s front door and pound against it.
I hear thudding. That’ll be Sammy running down the staircase. The door opens. I’m greeted with angry eyes. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve called at least twenty times. Your mum is going insane looking for you. Shit, Abigail,” she screams before her open palm strikes my upper arm.
“Ouch!”
“You deserve much more than that. Get inside. I’m calling your mum so that she doesn’t die from heart failure.” The door slams behind me as Sammy stomps through the house. I hear her talking. Shit, the entire neighbourhood can probably hear her because she’s so angry. “Mrs. M, I promise you she’s safe,” she yells, completely stressed out.
Mum is going to make me pay for this.
“Abs,” Mosby says, walking from the direction of the bedroom in boxers and a cotton singlet.
“Hey.”
“She’s pissed, dude. What gives?”
“I’m about a scotch away from writing myself off.” It’s the truth.
“Come here.” He wraps his burley arms around me and kisses the top of my head. “There’s no good in everybody being angry at you, is there?”
Silent tears stream down my cheeks as Sammy’s man, the one who wants to love her for life, offers me comfort. “I’ve screwed up big time,” I sob.
“You have, dude, but they’ll get over it. You need to sort your shit out. Okay?”